


(Can't) Argue with Taste

by rosewiththorns



Series: Hot Blood [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Discussion of Training, Dominant/Submissive, Fondling, Guilt, Kissing, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Rules and Consequences, Sexual Submission, Shame, Spanking, Training, blowjob, deep-throating, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hank has to please Steve, and Steve has to discipline Hank. Please read author's note for an important warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Can't) Argue with Taste

**Author's Note:**

> As part of the "Hot Blood" arc, this piece contains references to previous sexual, emotional, and physical abuse suffered by Hank, so please make an informed reading decision and protect yourself from triggers if you have them. 
> 
> On a happier note, I want to say a quick thank you to the people who have reviewed the first two stories in this series. Your support is really motivating, and I hope that you'll continue to enjoy these works.

(Can’t) Argue with Taste

When Hank entered the dining room, he saw a pair of mint green china bowls piled high with salad alongside two matching china plates covered with olive oil and thick slices of bread pungent with garlic butter and the sharp scent of Parmesan on the silk placemat in front of the cushioned chair at the head of the maplewood table. Just above the placemat, two empty glasses rested on glittering gold coasters, and, in the middle of the table were an assortment of more empty glasses and coasters as well as pitchers of ice water, milk, Coke, Pepsi, Sprite, and orange soda. In a vase beside the pitchers were an array of wooden spoons and salad tongs arranged like a bouquet of flowers. 

Hank’s mouth watered—the smell of garlic and Parmesan almost turning to a taste on his tongue—as he let Steve guide him onto his lap, settling them both into the seat at the head of the table. As Steve’s left palm stroked Hank’s thigh, his right reached toward the pitchers, and he asked, “Milk or water, Hank?” 

The ice cubes in the water looked refreshing after a rough day of training camp, so Hank responded, “Water, please, Master.” 

“Good choice.” Steve patted Hank’s thigh as he poured Hank the requested glass of water. Then he filled his own glass with Coke. 

Steve traced Hank’s jaw with a finger cool from the pitchers and murmured, “Want some soda, too, pet?” 

The orange soda in the pitcher looked so tempting and Steve’s touch felt so arousing yet comforting that the idea of performing a sexual favor to earn a glass of soda made Hank’s skin tingle with excitement rather than prickle with fear, so he whispered, “Yes, please, Master.” 

“You have such handsome lips.” Steve’s fingers tickled as he brushed them across Hank’s lips. “I want you to get down on your knees and suck me off with them.” 

“Yes, sir.” With an obedient nod, Hank slipped off Steve’s lap and knelt with his nose at the level of a mountain that was beginning to peak in Steve’s khakis. Trained by Erik well enough to know that a submissive who lowered his dom’s clothes without permission deserved a punishment, he asked, “Permission to unzip your pants and reveal your cock, Master?” 

“Granted.” Steve’s hands coiled through Hank’s hair as Hank unzipped the fly of Steve’s khakis, exposing plaid boxers. 

Nudging apart the opening of the boxers, Hank freed the dick that was straining to escape and ran his tongue along the length of the shaft. Once he had traveled the length of Steve’s penis, Hank kissed a path back down to the head, where he swirled his tongue around the tip, tasting a delicious saltiness that he knew he would forever think of as Steve’s flavor. He lapped at the head until he drew a faint moan from Steve, whose fingers were combing quickly through his hair, and decided it was time to shift his attention to Steve’s bulging balls. Flicking his tongue across Steve’s balls, Hank licked until Steve’s moans came in loud, heavy bursts, and then he trailed kisses back to Steve’s cock. 

Since Erik had taught him that it was his duty to deep-throat his dom whenever he gave his master a blowjob, Hank stroked the length of Steve’s dick with his tongue until he was confident that the entire shaft was slick with saliva. Then, he took all of Steve’s very erect penis into his mouth, letting it push down his throat. As his throat tightened around Steve’s cock, he heard Steve’s moans of arousal turn into gasps of ecstasy as he came, finding release in the depths of Hank’s throat. 

As Hank, well-aware that it was disrespectful for a sub to spit out his master’s semen, swallowed it, Steve, rubbing Hank’s flushed cheeks, remarked softly, “You’re excellent at giving blowjobs, love. I didn’t expect you to deep-throat me the first time you sucked me off, but I’m glad that you did.” 

With a gentle kiss, Steve tugged Hank back onto his lap. Hank reclined against Steve’s strong chest, comforted by the beat of Steve’s heart, and watched as Steve poured him a glass of orange soda. 

“Cheers.” Steve lifted his glass of Coke. 

“Cheers, sir,” echoed Hank, tapping his glass of orange soda against Steve’s upraised one. 

He took a sip of soda that stung pleasantly at the mouth and throat that had been rubbed raw by Steve’s dick and then turned his attention to his appetizers. He dipped a wedge of the garlic bread into the olive oil, which he discovered by the explosion of flavor in his mouth had been spiced with basil, oregano, thyme, parsley, and rosemary, and ate his way through the slice bite by bite. 

“How has the adjustment to Detroit from Sweden been?” Steve shot Hank the sort of look that suggested he was truly interested in the answer to this question as he speared a leaf of romaine and a crouton with his fork. 

“Okay, Master.” Hank dunked his second slice of bread into the olive oil and munched away at it. “I don’t have jet lag anymore and the weather is similar, but the people here are— “ 

When Hank floundered for a word, Steve waited patiently until Hank continued, “Well, more outgoing, I guess. It feels like everyone in America is loud and confident, but in Sweden most people are more reserved and humble, except for my pappa. He’s extremely loud and confident.”

Realizing that he had said too much, Hank chewed at his bread with increased vigor. Steve was silent for a moment, so Hank could hear the sound of both their jaws working, and then Steve prodded, “Does that bother you?” 

“It’s more him that’s bothered by me, sir.” Hank had finished his bread and craved something else to sink his teeth into to distract from this conversation that literally hit too close to home, but the Caesar salad had a trio of anchovies sprinkled on top of the romaine, the dressing, and the croutons, so he couldn’t bring himself to take a bite out of it. Hank enjoyed most seafood—you couldn’t live in Sweden and not eat fish; it was practically against the law—but anchovies were the exception to that rule. Something about that tiny fish had always made his stomach churn in revolt. Just the sight of them ruining an otherwise delightful salad made him nauseous. “He’s the one who is always telling me that I’m doing everything wrong. According to him, I’ve probably been one big screw-up since I was born.” 

Embarrassed by how much he had revealed about his family life, his father, and his father’s contempt for him, Hank suddenly felt more exposed than he ever had when Erik had when Erik beat him or let teammates use his every orifice. That had been humiliating but at least he had been able to go numb inside when his body was violated. When it was his heart that was penetrated, there was no refuge. Erik had never sought to delve so deeply inside Hank; he had just been looking to dominate him. Steve, Hank determined with a jolt of defiance, didn’t deserve to peel back the layers of his skin to peer into his heart like this. He had a right to Hank’s body but not to his mind or soul. Erik had never violated him like this. Why should Steve be allowed to. 

Not wanting to eat anchovies and figuring that pouting about them would distract Steve from any further inquiries about Hank’s father, Hank twisted his lips into a petulant scowl as he scoffed, “Anchovies. Do I really have to eat them?” 

“If you don’t want a spanking, yes, and watch how you address me, boy.” Stern as a coach announcing a bag skate, Steve delivered a warning swat to the interior of each of Hank’s thighs. 

The firmness of the slaps against such tender regions caused Hank to swallow a hiss of shock at the flashes of pain flaring in his thighs. He should have been a good submissive and forced himself to eat the wretched anchovies, but the hurt of the smacks on top of the memory of his father’s controlling behavior made him clench his jaw obstinately. “Anchovies are slimy and smell like shit. I won’t eat them.” 

He was reaching out to push the salad bowl away from him when Steve’s hands grabbed his wrists like a vise and pulled him until he was sprawled across Steve’s lap with his backside upraised. As Steve pressed a palm between his shoulder blades to lock him in place for his punishment, Hank couldn’t prevent his legs from flailing in protest, even though he knew that was a mark of a naughty sub who didn’t even have the dignity to accept discipline without a struggle. Tears pricked at the eyelids he had squeezed shut because he hadn’t wanted to get in trouble with Steve so quickly as Steve’s other hand snaked around his waist to unbutton his pants and yank them down to his kneecaps. A second later his underwear followed, and he felt Steve’s powerful hand resting on his bare buttocks, warm and firm as it waited to strike and become hot and hard. 

“You’ll eat all your food without grumbling, or you’ll find yourself over my knee for a spanking just like this, and you’ll never disrespect me unless you want a very red butt,” scolded Steve, lifting the palm from Hank’s hindquarters. Hank flinched but Steve merely landed a firm pat on each cheek before stipulating, “No squirming, no arguing, and if I ask you a question, remember your manners when you answer it, Hank.” 

“Yes, Master.” Hank had barely choked out the words before Steve’s hand smashed across his rear, igniting a fire on impact. The flames spread across Hank’s backside as Steve smacked a path down to his sit-spots and up again, alternating cheeks so that Hank could never be sure what part of his rump would be set ablaze next. 

“This hurts, doesn’t it?” Steve landed a particularly searing swat to the center of Hank’s ass, making both cheeks burn. 

“Yes, sir.” Hank bit his lips around a whimper. 

“It hurts Grace even more when she’s in the kitchen, and she hears you complaining about a meal she worked long and hard to make, a healthy meal that many starving people would beg to eat,” Steve admonished, eliciting a faint yowl from Hank as he hammered away at Hank’s sit-spots, turning the delicate flesh hot and red as lava. 

“Speaking of hurting,” Steve went on, continuing to flame the volcanos erupting in Hank’s sit-spots with a series of scalding spanks, “I’m hurt when you act like a brat, not only refusing to eat perfectly good food but also cursing at me and forgetting to address me with an appropriate title in private. I expect my sub to behave better in public and in private, pet.” 

“Sorry, Master.” Sobs tore through Hank, rattling his shoulders and heaving his back. “I promise I won’t pout about the food I’m served, and I swear I won’t disrespect you again.” 

“I’m going to help you remember your promise.” Steve paused, but Hank, wincing at Steve’s ominous phrasing, knew better than to hope that his punishment was over, and a second later he gasped as he felt a wooden spoon—doubtlessly selected from the collection in the vase—brushing along his behind. Squelching the urge to squirm since Steve had forbidden it, Hank bit back a groan as Steve pronounced, “You’re getting three swats with the wooden spoon on each of your sit-spots and inner thighs. We’ll start with your sit-spots, love.” 

As Steve brought the wooden spoon slashing across his right sit-spot three times in rapid succession, Hank yelped, and the yelps grew into wails as Steve shifted his focus to his left sit-spots. Once he had wielded the wooden spoon three swift times against Hank’s aching right sit-spots, Steve massaged between Hank’s quivering shoulders, crooning, “You’re taking your punishment so well, precious, and I know you’ll learn from this to become an even better sub. Now spread your legs for me, so I can spank your inner thighs, and we can be done with this unpleasant business.” 

Erik had taught him that any resistance during a spanking would just earn him more swats, so Hank separated his legs, exposing the soft skin of his inner thighs to the harsh contact of the wooden spoon. As the wooden spoon smacked against his vulnerable inner thighs, Hank howled a miserable accompaniment to each stinging strike. 

When it was finally over, he wept as Steve rubbed soothing circles into his back and streamed kisses along the bow of his ass. Once his weeping had subsided, Steve slid his pants and underwear up to their original locations, eliciting whimpers from Hank as the fabric brushed across his sensitive inner thighs and sit-spots. 

With a ginger squeeze of Hank’s shaking shoulders, Steve steered Hank into a sitting position and pulled him into a warm hug against his chest. As Hank buried his face in Steve’s shirt, soaking the fabric with his tears, he sniffled, because although his mind knew that it was rude for a sub to talk without his master’s invitation, his tongue and heart didn’t, “I’m really sorry for being a brat, Master. Please forgive me, and please don’t hate me.” 

“Shh.” Steve pressed a kiss into Hank’s hair, since his face was hidden. “You’re already forgiven, pet, and I could never hate you. I spank you because I love you and can’t bear to see you behaving disrespectfully or unhealthily, but no matter how rude or unhealthy you are, I’ll still care about you and want to make you better.” 

“Thank you, sir.” Hank wondered if his dom could hear him when the shirt he was burrowed in had to muffle his speech. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“Of course you do.” Steve leaned over to whisper into the shell of Hank’s ear, “Every sub deserves a dom who will try to make him better. That’s what I’m trying to do with you right now, love. The next few weeks will be a difficult transition for both of us, as you adjust to my rules and perhaps push the boundaries to see what you can get away with, but you will learn that I care about you too much to let you get away with breaking my rules. Once you’ve gotten used to my rules and the fact that breaking them will always be punished, you won’t have much urge to misbehave and incur punishment. Neither of us will enjoy all these disciplinary spankings, but soon you’ll find they are happening a lot less as you adapt to living in accordance to my rules. I just have to be strict with you now, so we won’t have to deal with major problems later on in our relationship.” 

“You’re training me.” Hank’s lower lip trembled as he remembered how Erik, at the outset of their relationship, had put him through rough training, shoving his dick into Hank’s throat until he vomited, fucking Hank’s asshole without lube, caning Hank’s feet until they bled, and clamping Hank’s nipples until they bruised. The pain had only stopped when Hank had blacked out. “You shouldn’t have to train me, Master. Erik already trained me.” 

“Erik was your dom back in Sweden?” Steve’s lips tickled Hank’s earlobe as he murmured this question, and Hank shivered, whether from the teasing touch of Steve’s mouth on his sensitive skin or from the memory of all the horrors Erik had inflicted on him so frequently that he had almost become numb to them. 

“Yes, sir.” Hank’s tone was so hushed that he was amazed Steve could hear him. 

“Erik taught you how to please him.” Steve nipped at Hank’s ear, teeth tugging the lobe lightly. “He didn’t teach you how to please me. Every dom is different, just like every sub is unique, so I have to show you how to follow my rules, meet my needs, and fulfill my desires. It’s a process that will take patience and firmness on my part, but I know you’re worth all of it, love.” 

“You did like the blow job I gave you, didn’t you, Master?” Hank’s forehead knotted as he started to worry that maybe Steve, unlike Erik, didn’t enjoy being deep-throated. 

“Of course I did.” Steve kissed the furrows out of Hank’s forehead. “I didn’t expect you to deep-throat me the first time you took me in your mouth, but I was very happy that you did.” 

“Erik trained me in that, sir,” Hank said, because some part inside him compelled him to for a reason he could not comprehend, since his mind didn’t want Steve to learn about his past, but his traitor tongue seemed determine to spill out all his shameful secrets, seeking a comfort or a condemnation. 

“He trained you well in that art.” Steve kissed a trail back to Hank’s ear, where he licked the shell and drew forth a gasp from Hank. “Grace will be bringing in the chicken parmesan now. Let’s get back to eating.”


End file.
